


for i am weak and starving for mercy

by notavodkashot



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Dreams and Nightmares, Edging, M/M, Masturbation, Medieval Fantasy AU, Multiple Orgasms, Raihan May Or May Not Be A Literal Dragon, Ritual Sex, Sex Magic, Slow Burn, There's kind of a plot of sorts somewhere beneath the smut, Trans Male Character, Trans!Leon, Vaginal Fingering, Virgin Sacrifice, self-inflicted orgasm denial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24984709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notavodkashot/pseuds/notavodkashot
Summary: Every decade, a virgin sacrifice is sent to wed the Calamity in Hammerlocke and buy Galar another ten years of peace. This time, Leon's been chosen for the dubious honor, but what he finds in Hammerlocke Keep is absolutely not what he was expecting.Or, as Raihan put it: while there is indeed a fucking dragon involved, no actual dragon fucking is required.Leon's an overachiever anyway.
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Kibana | Raihan
Comments: 52
Kudos: 190





	1. leon of postwick, raihan of hammerlocke

**Author's Note:**

> Say it with me "this was supposed to be a 3K one shot" because I wanted some nice Leon getting absolutely ravaged on an altar, but here we are instead.
> 
> I'll be adding tags as the chapters come out.
> 
> Special thanks to my friend Eder, who's doing sensitivity reading on the porn, and who keeps insisting I need to add more of it.
> 
> This chapter is mostly setup, the real fun starts in earnest next one.

The ruins of Hammerlocke Keep loomed in the distance, dominating the landscape no matter where in Galar one happened to be standing. The faint smoke trails raising from the perpetually signed stones were visible even as far away as Postwick, and everything was forever relative to the site of the great catastrophe. 

For three months now, Leon had been riding North, aiming for the source of the smoke plumes. The closer he got, he realized the ruins exuded a faint, reddish glow, visible at night, like a beacon calling him home. The ground grew drier, plants thinning out and trees reduced to stumps or lonely clusters of branches. Charizard slowed her pace, hooves digging into the faint trail leading to what once served a Galar’s capital, but had long since been reduced to… well, ruins. 

Leon had never been outside Postwick since they moved there, so he wasn’t dithering, per se, but he wasn’t against taking his time in approaching his destination. After all, it wasn’t like he was going to get another chance to enjoy the sights: he wasn’t the first person chosen for this rite, but he was definitely going to be the last. He had to be. Master Rose had looked at Hop and said _maybe next time_ , after all. Leon was not a mage, or a warrior, or anyone who stood a chance to challenge someone as powerful as a court wizard. But he could absolutely make it so there was no next time at all, for Master Rose to come back to their farm. 

It wouldn’t be so bad, he reckoned, bits and pieces he’d puzzled together over the years – he’d been ten, back when they still lived in the nice outskirts of Wyndon, when Master Rose had followed him home that first time, drawn a rune on his palm and told his parents he was _special_ , destined to gift Galar a whole decade of prosperity paid with his life – about what was expected of him. He was to be the Calamity’s bride, in a way, which was why the rune Master Rose had drawn on his hand was so important: it kept him from doing things that he… shouldn’t. If he wasn’t a good enough bride, he’d die, and his death would buy Galar another decade to find the next – in his mind, Leon remembered that look, the way Master Rose _stared_ at Hop, the way his lips wrapped around the words, _maybe next time_ – but that was only if he failed. If he were good enough, he could fulfill the bargain that kept the entire kingdom hostage to the dragon’s demands. 

He could do that, no matter what it took. 

And, alright, maybe not all his meandering was a result of him taking in the scenery, but it was better than to admit he kept getting lost despite the fact Hammerlocke was a glowing beacon in the distance, visible from ever corner of the land. Leon had his dignity, after all. He had time, anyway. He’d set out a whole month earlier than he was supposed to, precisely because he was prone to getting lost. Besides, his route involved avoiding most roads if possible, considering the few people likely to roam around in them were not likely to be very nice at all, so, really, as long as Hammerlocke looked closer every night as he set up camp, he was doing great. 

He still barely made it two days before the day he was supposed to arrive, if he’d left on the original date, but by then Leon was… at peace, with what had to be done, his determination had galvanized into a serene confidence that was pushing close to actual expectation, as he took the reins and the saddle off Charizard and urged the horse to run away, free. After all, Leon would not be needing his help anymore. He watched his mount go for a long moment, before he took a deep breath and stepped into Hammerlocke proper, feeling the sole of his boots warm up unpleasantly just from that. Leon reckoned if he stood still long enough, they’d burn through easily, so he had no option but to walk. 

According to the stories he’d dug out, the great Calamity had turned Hammerlocke Keep into its nest, so Leon had to walk through the burnt remnants of the erstwhile capital to reach it. There was little but wooden beams and scorched rocks left of the city, but the footprint of it was astounding anyway. Leon reckoned it was bigger still, than even Wyndon. The sun was sinking in the distance, by the time he finally made it to the long, blackened staircase, and his boots had, in fact, burned through. His feet were numb, by then, trailing muddied blood behind him, as he took a deep breath and forced himself to climb up the steps, one by one, until he was crossing the enormous threshold of the Keep. 

The stone floor of the Keep was refreshingly cool and it soothed the burned, wounded soles of his feet. Leon wanted nothing more than to collapse on the floor and maybe sleep off the pain, but that would make for a very poor impression, he reckoned. So he forced his knees to stop shaking and walked down the tall corridor with his back straight. At the end of the corridor, there was a large wooden door, half of it rotted away. Or perhaps blasted with fire, it was hard to say. All Leon knew was that the throne room rested beyond it, and within, the arbiter of his doom. 

Leon stood before the doorway for a moment, then ran a hand through his bangs, licked his lips and threw back his shoulders, prepared to meet his fate with a challenging smile. 

He was fucked, obviously, but at least he could make the best of it. 

* * *

“Oh,” Leon said, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light and made out the figure sprawled on the throne. 

“Oh?” Said the… well, it… he looked like a man. A very tall one, at that, with decidedly handsome features and legs that went on for miles. “Is that disappointment I hear?” He asked, tone mocking. 

“No, no,” Leon replied, waving his hands placatingly. “It’s just… You know. I expected… wings and scales.” He licked his lips and very, very pointedly stared at him in the eye, rather than… well, lower. “Horns at the very least.” 

“…you do understand I’m not the actual doom dragon of poison and hate, here,” the man said, expression wry, “I’m just the sucker keeping the seal holding it in place.” 

“ _Oh_ ,” Leon said, who did not, in fact, understand that up until three seconds prior, and was thus busy hastily rewriting the script he’d spent all his pilgrimage writing. It was a shame, really, he’d been looking forward to a few choice bits in there, to make up for the bit where he was definitely going to die doing this. “So… the whole virgin sacrifice to keep the kingdom safe is not a thing?” 

“Oh, no,” the man replied, grinning with teeth that were suspiciously sharp, “it is definitely a thing, but while there is a fucking dragon involved, there is no actual dragon fucking required.” 

“Right,” Leon said, instead of any of the rude things he was thinking, mentally grasping for that confident mindset once more. “So… who are you?” 

“Name’s Raihan,” the man said, finally standing up from the throne. “I’m the Seal Keeper.” 

Leon realized he was not, in fact, naked, though the sheer fabric of his robes gave that impression. The thin bangles in his wrists and up his ankles jiggled with each step, and together with the earrings and the hair ornaments, all in muted gold, they gave him a very… otherworldly appearance. And there was the teeth, as well, almost too sharp, that peeked behind his lips as he approached Leon, smiling. 

“I’m Leon from Postwick,” Leon offered, keeping himself in place, “I’m…” He paused, not sure what to call himself, properly. 

“The sacrifice Rose chose for this decade, I take it,” Raihan said, walking a circle around Leon, bracelets jiggling. He tapped his lips with a finger, blue eyes – Leon had never seen eyes like those, they seemed to glow with a light of their own, amplified by the darkness of the room – pinning Leon where he stood. “Let me guess, he plucked you out of a crowd and put his dumb mark on your hand, and then he told your parents you were chosen to wed the Hammerlocke Calamity or be eaten in the attempt, for the preservation of Galar.” 

Leon swallowed hard. 

“More or less, yes,” he replied, and then took a deep breath, when Raihan reached a hand to point directly at the chain hanging around Leon’s throat. 

“Did he give you that as well?” Raihan asked, one eyebrow arched challengingly. 

“No,” Leon admitted, reaching up to hold the small, round coin tied to a gold chain that Sonia had spent a good six months working on, for his sixteenth birthday. “A friend made it for me.” 

“Not a very knowledgeable wizard, your friend,” Raihan pointed out, taunting, “that’s more parlor trick than proper magic.” 

“It’s good enough,” Leon replied curtly, frowning, “for me, at least.” 

“The thing with illusions is that anyone with a modicum of magical know-how can see right through them,” Raihan pointed out, looking at Leon in a way that made it painfully clear he was one such person. “But then, magic is not taught properly anymore out there, is it? Not since Hammerlocke burned.” 

“It doesn’t matter, though, does it?” Leon asked, and then, with a shuddering breath, pulled the necklace off his throat, thin gold chain snapping at once. “It served its purpose.” 

It had, Leon reckoned, and was inwardly and privately surprised by the fact he felt no different, once the illusion was gone. It didn’t change what he looked like, it only made it so people… felt inclined to not look twice at him. A subtle nudge, Sonia had explained, to keep him safe and make people stop asking dumb questions. 

Raihan narrowed his eyes at him, and raised a hand, palm facing Leon. He whispered a word under his breath, one Leon had never heard before, and a circle of pale blue light flared to light beneath Leon, followed by an intoxicating sensation that he realized was healing him. He tilted his head back, feeling for a moment like he was sinking in deep water, like when he went diving for trinkets at Sonia’s behest, in the great lake behind her grandmother’s house. It felt nice. So nice, he almost lost his footing, as the light faded and he found himself standing by his own power again, only, no longer in pain. 

“I’m sorry you had to deal with Rose,” Raihan said, borderline indifferent in a way that made Leon intuit he was annoyed, somehow. “He is… prone to dramatics. While there is, in fact, a ritual required to purge the Calamity from Hammerlocke, you are not _at all_ required to go through with it.” Leon blinked and straightened up at that. “All I really need is a pint of your blood and a decade of your life, to strengthen the seal in time for the next one to come here.” He snorted. “I’ll fix your necklace, too, if you want. Because I think I like you, Leon of Postwick. You’ve got _pluck_.” 

“What about the Calamity?” Leon asked, frowning. “And the ritual?” 

“Someone else will do it,” Raihan said, in a tone that implied that was never actually going to happen. At the sight of Leon’s frown, Raihan smiled. “It’s _sex_ magic, what’s required here. Sex and sacrifice, which must be willing and free of fear.” He tilted his head, almost birdlike. “You’ve been raised with the threat of rape at the hands of a monster half your life, kid, you can offer neither of those.” 

If that was the case, Leon wanted to ask, why did Rose go around marking children for so-called slaughter. It made sense, of course, that no one spoke of the truth of the rite, considering how deeply enshrined in their culture was the role of the sacrifice. Leon would have been paraded around Wyndon, almost venerated for his role, if his parents hadn’t chosen to run away and go into hiding in Postwick. 

And besides, was he just supposed to take this out and leave the problem for whoever was chosen next? In his head, he remembered the sound of Rose’s voice, wrapped around the words: _maybe next time_. 

“I am willing,” Leon said, giving a step forward, staring at Raihan in the eye. “And I’m not scared, either,” he added, offering a wry smile. “Pluck, and all that.” 

Raihan looked down at him – he was very tall, on account of those long legs, probably – thoughtful for a moment, before he smiled. It was a rather mocking smile, at that. 

“You’re not the first one to say that,” Raihan pointed out, “and I reckon you won’t be the last.” He shook his head. “Rose has a knack for the self-sacrificing kind.” 

“What’s the harm in letting me try?” Leon asked, refusing to be cowed. “I might prove you wrong, you know.” 

“Well,” Raihan explained, expression settling back into dark amusement, “depending how far along you get, when you break, you’ll die.” 

“If,” Leon corrected, tilting his chin up defiantly, “if I break, not when.” 

There was a moment, there, where Leon was almost sure he’d pushed too hard or that he’d failed a test he wasn’t know he was going through. But then Raihan laughed, low and dark, shaking his head. Even as he raised a hand to cover his mouth, the gesture painfully graceful, the bracelets jiggled some more, like tiny bells announcing his presence. 

“Show me your hand,” Raihan said, stretching a hand towards Leon, but not actually touching him, not until he met him halfway. “Let me see Rose’s brand.” 

Leon licked his lips, gathered aplomb, and offered his hand, palm side up, for him to see. There, the golden rune looked muted, dormant as it always was, unless Leon found himself entertaining thoughts he shouldn’t, or people touched him with the intent to- 

The rune flared to life, the way it always did, the moment Raihan touched him. It glowed golden and furious, and Leon swallowed a cry as the crippling, angry pain echoed throughout his bones. Then Raihan leaned in and licked it, his tongue wide and wet and _wonderful_ , and the pain ended abruptly, the rune vanishing from his skin without fanfare. Leon found his knees buckled in surprise, but Raihan was there, solid and strong, wrapping an arm around his back and hoisting him upright like he weighted nothing at all. 

“Alright, then,” Raihan sighed, closing his eyes in mock-defeat, before he leaned over and swept Leon off his feet, hooking his other arm right under his knees. “I’ll take you to your room.” 

Leon – who did not squeak, at all, at the suddenness of the movement – blinked up at him. He was tempted to wrap an arm around Raihan’s shoulders – from up close, the fabric of his clothes, so sheer as to be transparent in certain angles, was oddly… not-soft. Leon didn’t know how to describe it, except that it reminded him of the feeling of sinking his fingers into wet sand: smooth going in, but also… a hint of rough to it, in the texture. It was fascinating, in the places he was rubbing against it. From up close, there was a pattern to it, too, almost too faint to see, of oval-shaped scales delicately painted on the fabric, one by one. 

“I get a room?” Leon asked, hands folded over his lap, keenly aware he’d not been given permission to touch. 

“You get a room,” Raihan confirmed, clearly amused, “and a meal and a hot bath, and then a whole night to rethink this nonsense.” 

“It’s not nonsense,” Leon insisted, jaw set defiantly. “I’m-“ 

“Free of your brand,” Raihan pointed out, one eyebrow arched. “So now you need to make it through the night untouched, and then we’ll discuss terms.” 

“That was underhanded of you,” Leon said, eyes narrowed, “setting me up like that.” 

“I shan’t think less of you, Leon of Postwick, when you fail,” Raihan retorted, as he came to a stop before a tall doorway, though not as tall as the throne room, “you’re not the first one to try.” 

The room changed, as Raihan stepped into it, dust disappearing and broken things mending themselves on their own, until Raihan dropped Leon, rather unceremoniously, onto the softest bed he had ever sat on. Or been dropped onto, for that matter. 

“I’d appreciate it,” Raihan said, placing his hands on his hips, “if you didn’t wander around the Keep. Not everything here is friendly, and I’d rather you didn’t get hurt.” 

Then he turned around – jiggling – and headed for the door. 

“Thank you,” Leon said, before he reached it, sitting up properly at the edge of the bed. “For your kind hospitality, Raihan.” 

Raihan looked at him over his shoulder, blue eye still eerily bright, and smiled at him, teeth bared in all their sharp, pointy glory. Then he left, without another word. 

* * *

The bath was hard, but not unbearable. 

Leon washed himself quickly and resisted the temptation to soak in the tub, where the water stayed hot and just _right_ no matter how much time passed. He wanted to, desperately, not just because his feet hurt in a ghostly way that didn’t actually hurt. Like they remembered they should be burned and tired from all the stupid things he’d done that day, but they weren’t, because Raihan made them so. It was weird, but it was a useful kind of weird that helped him keep his focus. 

He sat on the bed, towel loosely wrapped around his shoulders, and contemplated the platter of food – warm, despite how long it’d take him to wash himself until the water ran clear, another touch of magic, he supposed – while he air-dried himself. 

Sonia would love to see all this casual magical nonsense, Leon thought, reaching a hand to grab a small bite-sized pastry that literally melted into his mouth. But then, he wouldn’t want her to be here, in his place. He wouldn’t want anyone to take his place. Leon grabbed another pastry, and then another, feeling the warmth settling in his belly, which conspired with the stupid softness of the bed and the relief from the bath, to make his limbs heavy and his eyelids heavier. 

He didn’t remember when he fell asleep, falling over into the bedding, towel half wrapped around him, feeling warm and content. 

Then, the dreams started. 

* * *

Leon ran, feet light and gaunt nimble like the wild rams back home, rushing through and leaping over open chasms without doubt he could cross them in one go. 

He ran and ran, through forest and field and mountain trail, and realized he wasn’t _like_ a ram. 

He _was_ the ram. 

Hooves dug into the rock, finding solid enough purchase to throw himself forward, onwards, drunk in the panicked certainty that, despite the balancing weight of massive horns on his head, despite the desperate strength of his limbs, he was prey. 

Prey. 

The hunter was behind him, slithering, sliding, wings and scales and claws and fangs, a nightmare of shapeless death chasing him down. He knew it was there, but he dare not look back and _see_. He could not. Animal fear drowned his senses, his mind. The longer the chase, the less he recognized of himself, until only the all-consuming command remained – _flee_ – thundering in his skull like his heart in his chest. 

He ran and ran and ran, and for a moment, he faced the impossible, to be caught or to leap into death, as he found himself cornered against a steep, bottomless pit. 

Desperation made him take the jump, trust himself to cross it like he had all before, despite how impossible they had seemed to the remnants of his human mind. The euphoria of success evaporated as he found himself falling, too far away and yet so close it was barely there. The panic of impending death as he watched the ground rise up to meet him at vertiginous, terrifying speed, as then further interrupted by the feeling of large, sharp talons plucking him from his doom to deliver him onto another. 

Leon felt small in the grip of his captor, his heart fluttering like a hummingbird caught behind his teeth. 

Teeth closed around his throat, teeth from a jaw he instinctively knew strong enough to shatter every single bone in him, and when they squeezed, digging in one pointed fang at the time, it felt like they were shooting lighting into every nerve in his body. 

He heard bone grind against each other, testing the resistance, and he choked on the sulfur in the air, the choking, toxic breath of his captor, stealing his own with each agonizing moment that he was not dead _yet_. 

Fear and panic and rage and impotence and the singular, furious, powerful pulse of heat in his veins, of something _alive_ even as he was dying. 

Dying. 

_Crunch_ . 

Dead. 

* * *

Leon jolted awake in the bed, spread out like the starfish Sonia collected on every trip to Hulbury. 

He had the ram’s panting panic bundled up awkwardly behind his teeth and a searing, pulsing heat digging deep into his groin. It took a moment to realize, of course, that the panic was remnants of a dream, and that the heat was arousal. He’d never truly felt that, before. The brand burned with excruciating pain long before he could entertain anything like it, much less act on it. But now he had no brand – the pulse of heat intensified and Leon squirmed in place, carefully staring straight ahead into the canvas, because the heat grew _wet_ when he remembered the feeling of Raihan’s tongue on his palm, wiping away Rose’s magic like it was nothing at all – and he didn’t know what to do with it. 

It was… like an itch, he supposed, staring at the red velvet canvas hanging above his head. A pulse beneath the itch, more like. The pulse was hot and tingly and the itch was wet and squirmy. He wanted desperately to scratch the source of it, or at least touch it. Instinctively, he knew that’d help. Make it better. 

Untouched, Raihan had said, and the word echoed terrible inside Leon’s mind, making his throat dry. 

The drier his throat got, the more the wetness grew, right between his legs. 

Very slowly, purposefully, Leon folded his arms behind his head until his hands were pinned in place. He studied the canvas – he’d never seen one before, not in real life, only in the illustrations in Sonia’s books, the ones that talked about the history of Galar and the age of great kings and heroes, long before the ruin of Hammerlocke. Leon had always been far more interested in the stories about knights, about swords with fancy names and horses that were as loyal and chivalrous as the men who mounted them. He liked the stories about slaying evil monsters in far off borders, though he was always disappointed when they all ended with knights coming home to get married and have kids and retire into old estates, growing old and drunk on their memories of better times. 

Leon stared at the canvas and resisted the urge to rub his thighs together, instead wondering what the purpose of it was. It _looked_ very fancy – the entire room did, of course – but what was the point of it? Everything had a reason to be, people didn’t make things just because. People had made these, for some reason, and he had all the time in the world to think about it. 

He shifted the thought in his head, like a coin trick he’d learned for the sake of making his baby brother laugh, over and over, fiddling and twisting and focusing so hard he had nothing to spare for the pulse digging slowly into his groin. 

Eventually, he fell asleep. 

Eventually. 

* * *

In the next dream, he was powerful rather than meek. 

He _inspired_ the panicked flight, rather than be consumed by it. He had paws the size of a man’s chest, tipped in claws that dug into dirt and grass as he stalked in leisured, measured movements. The mane was thick and the tail was heavy, and it took only a moment to recognize the shape he’d taken this time: The Lord of the Dust Bowl, the massive, ancient lion and the primary reason Leon had tried his best to avoid the landmark on his way to Hammerlocke. 

Each step was weighty, heavy with intent, as he leisurely stalked his prey. 

Leon had never seen a creature like the one he cornered up against a cliff: a long, sinuous body, covered in dark blue scales that glimmered purple where the light hit them just right. It had long spines along its back and at the tip of its tail, which bristled threateningly as it pressed itself against the rock wall, claws digging into the ground and broken wing failing to fold up properly against its back. The slitted eyes were familiar – blue so vibrant they seemed to glow – even as it snarled at him, throwing threatening bites his way but always pulling back at the last second. 

He wasn’t hungry, Leon noted, as he eyed the creature – dragon – trying its best to stand up to him. This, he realized, was not a hunt for sustenance. It wasn’t something he did because he had to. 

He just liked the way bone sounded, when it snapped between his jaws. 

He leaped. 

* * *

Leon woke up gasping, back arched, heels dug into the soft mattress and fingers clenching on the sheets hard enough he heard them rip. 

He relaxed by stages, forcing his breathing to slow and his muscles to stop clenching. His heart hammered in his chest, so loud he could hear nothing else, and the pang of arousal was now a firm stab, skewering him right through the gut. He wanted… _something_. It was shapeless and desperate and just barely out of grasp. Leon licked his lips and winced at how dry his throat felt. Everything felt dry and brittle, and what didn’t was wet and pulsing. 

He wanted to curl up and also to explode, and it was _terrible_ and yet somehow infinitely better than the pain he knew he would be in, if he still had the brand. 

Was this what it was like, to live without the brand? Was this how everyone else felt? What their nights were like? Vivid dreams and a writhing, relentless _hunger_ hollowing out the inside of their bones? 

Untouched, Raihan’s voice echoed in the back of Leon’s mind, taunting. 

Leon rolled onto his side, dug his fingers into his hair and resisted the urge to writhe. 

He could do this. 

He could. 

At some point, miraculously, he fell asleep. 

* * *

The cycle repeated itself, all night long. 

Tense, anxious dreams full of adrenaline that became soul-destroying arousal the moment he woke up. It was torture, but not the kind he knew. Nothing _hurt_ , not the way he was used to, not the burning, piercing pain that made him want to die. This was torture, yes, but he wanted more. And that was what scared him, just a little, that he _wanted_ but he didn’t quite know what. More tension, more arousal, or maybe… relief. 

Release. 

But then he wouldn’t be untouched, now, would he? He had to keep his wits about him. He had to make the best of it. He could do this. 

“Good morning, Leon from Postwick,” Raihan said, entering the room with the tell-tale jiggle of his dozens of bracelets, after the short, sharp knocking went unanswered, mostly because Leon was curled up around a pillow, absently wanting to die. “I trust you had a good night sleep?” 

Leon looked blearily up at him, hair drenched in sweat and eyes vaguely haunted by both lack of restful sleep and the thick tension clinging to his skin. Raihan stared at him, surprise naked on his face before his expression closed off, though maybe the fact Leon was looking at him with faint murderous intent was to blame for that last bit. 

“I don’t suppose you’re about to let me take that pint of blood now, are you,” Raihan said, without a hint of a question. 

Leon let out a shuddering breath and sat up very gingerly. 

“No,” Leon said, licking his lips, dry and parched like his throat. “I am not.” He paused, for emphasis. “And no, I did not.” 

They face off for a long moment, simply staring at each other without exchanging any words. 

“You’re stubborn,” Raihan pointed out, with that faint disinterest of his, and maybe it was the lack of sleep or the steady burning in his gut or the fact he was sweaty and sticky and naked and _wet_ , but Leon had a revelation and that revelation was that Raihan possessed a singularly punchable face, right that moment. “I’ll grant you that.” 

“So the dreams,” Leon said flatly, far more accusatory than he maybe should, but _irritable_ was barely enough to describe how he felt, “that was you.” 

Raihan looked taken aback by that, though he recovered quickly. 

“That doesn’t have a clear-cut answer,” Raihan said, hands folded neatly before him, his stupid glimmering robe falling down neatly down his shoulders and all the jewelry on him glinting in the early morning sun coming in from… somewhere. More magic stuff, probably. “I might or might not have _nudged_ your dreams in a certain direction, but there is enough… leftovers all over the Keep, that you would have had dreamed _something_ regardless.” 

God, Leon was so _done_ with the bullshit magic stuff. 

“So I just don’t get to sleep,” Leon deadpanned, still annoyed. “Great.” 

“You’ll sleep great once you leave,” Raihan insisted, eyebrows arched, and then waved a hand, _jiggling_. “A decade of your life and a pint of blood, that’s all it’ll take for you to be free of this.” 

“You said we’d talk terms,” Leon said instead, shifting in place, suddenly keenly, awkwardly aware of the _naked_ bit, as he tried his best to sit with dignity and aplomb. “If I got through the night untouched.” 

Raihan licked his lips, just a tiny flicker of his tongue, and frowned. 

“Yes,” he sighed, “I did say that.” 

“Then,” Leon insisted, folding his arms over the slight rise of his chest, “let’s talk.” 

Raihan let out another loud, dramatic sigh and then dropped himself back, landing on a plush chair that was definitely not there two seconds ago. All the golden loops wrapped around his limbs shook at once and rang like miniature bells as he did. Leon was reluctantly impressed by the quality of that lounge, it was the same lazy posture he’d been indulging the day prior, when he’d seen him in the throne room. 

“Fine,” Raihan said, waving a hand dismissively – and of course, as he did, he _jiggled_. “Let’s talk.” 

* * *

Raihan offered him clothes – the ones Leon had brought with him, or even a thin, shimmery robe like his own – but Leon was being stubborn, so he declined. He didn’t want to give the impression he was skittish at all, lest Raihan used that to prove he wasn’t up for this. 

He was. 

And besides, it was just logical, after all. It wasn’t like Raihan hadn’t already _seen_ him and wouldn’t be seeing a good deal of him anyway. No need to be shy. Or nervous. Raihan had explained – well, he’d tried, he kept interrupting himself to say Leon didn’t need to know the nitty gritty of the magical theory about it, which was kind of condescending, but Leon was afraid pointing it out would be used to stop the explanation at all, so he bit his tongue on that – what needed to be done, and Leon was willing. 

It didn’t seem too bad, really. 

Considering what he’d found about the rite back home, the stories about being… wed to the Calamity and all that it would do to him in the process, well. The actual rite seemed a lot easier to handle by comparison. He thought of it like the blacksmith’s work back home: first he converted coal into coke, then he fed it to the oven to be able to smelt iron into tools and horseshoes and anything else that was needed. Raihan was to be the blacksmith, and Leon the oven itself. It wasn’t that complicated, really, Leon wasn’t _dumb_. He knew how to read even though he didn’t have to, and he was good at a lot more than just tending to the family’s sheep flock. Just because he couldn’t read a map or not get lost in a straight street, it didn’t mean Raihan had to be condescending. Leon would show him, and then at the very least, he’d have to apologize and acknowledge that Leon could do this. 

Leon followed a few steps behind Raihan, keeping an eye on the broad shoulders to make sure he didn’t take a wrong turn as they walked down a maze of corridors. The ground was rough under Leon’s feet, but since Raihan had healed his burns it didn’t really hurt, though the air was slightly cold the deeper they went into the Keep and his skin kept breaking into goosebumps because of the sweat. He wondered if he should have asked for a bath first, and maybe some breakfast, but then, he’d been a bit… carried away with making sure Raihan didn’t dismiss him. Leon was competitive, sure, but for some reason Raihan brought out the very worst of it. 

Oh well, no point in crying over spilled milk. 

“Here we are,” Raihan said, tone dubious, as he stopped before a tall double door and pushed it open with the back of the hand not holding a literal ball of flame in his palm, for light. 

Raihan, apparently, just exuded bullshit magic without even thinking, Leon had better things to do than to stop and remark on every single one of them, though he reckoned Sonia would be beside herself with excitement at the sight. Leon peered into the room, faintly illuminated by, once again, the literal ball of incandescent fire casually held in Raihan’s left hand, which Leon was very much not paying attention to, and frowned. 

It was a very large room, big enough it tripped even Leon’s challenged space awareness: he felt like it was too big to be where it was, but he also had no idea _where_ he was, in relation to anything at all in the Keep, so he couldn’t say for sure. It nagged at him, though. The ceiling was curved, like a dome, only it was made of tinier domes itself, like someone had gone in and scoped out tiny bits of it, and the result was that he could tell more or less where the ceiling was, but trying to stare at it made him dizzy. The walls and the ceiling were made of a different kind of rock, than the solid purple-blue bricks that dominated the Keep, almost translucent. There was a circular raised platform in the center of the room, almost altar-like, surrounded by a shallow pools of water in concentric circles. 

“Now then,” Raihan said, as he raised the hand holding the fire up to his face and then _blew_ on it, causing the flames to fly out and spread, going to land into the hanging torches on the walls that illuminated the room and made the strange wall _glow_. “You can still change your—” 

Leon rolled his eyes, threw his shoulders back and stomped through the room towards the platform at the center. The little pools were ankle deep and the water was _freezing_ and _boiling_ in alternating pattern, but he refused to acknowledge it until he was standing right in the center, hands on his hips and expression fierce. 

“You might want to sit down,” Raihan said, shaking his head. “It’ll be intense, even if it doesn’t work.” 

There was a chance it wouldn’t work, of course, he’d explained that as well. Rose chose Leon the same reason he chose all his predecessors – and why he’d looked at Hop and said _maybe next time_ – because they all had a spark of magic talent, regardless of the fact they hadn’t even known it. Leon had certainly never felt very magical – Sonia would say his inability to not get lost was pretty magical, but Sonia was often mean in that way all best friends had to be, so Leon didn’t count it – but regardless of his feelings about it, if that spark wasn’t strong enough, he wouldn’t be able to do his part. This was the moment of truth, if this didn’t work, there was nothing Leon could do but give Raihan what he’d been asking and leave. 

But that was unacceptable, of course. 

That wasn’t going to happen. 

“I’m good,” Leon said, still more defiant than anything, resisting the urge to wiggle his toes on the surprisingly smooth surface of the platform. He wondered if the correct term would be altar, but he wasn’t curious enough to risk asking. “Really.” 

“Um, no,” Raihan snorted, shaking his head – _jiggling_ – as he gave Leon an expression best described as doubtful. “You think you want to go through with this, that’s not _good_. That’s crazy.” 

“You said nothing bad would happen if I succeeded,” Leon reminded him, folding his arms over his chest. 

“Well, yeah, it’d be great if you succeeded, but you’re probably not going to,” Raihan countered, shrugging, which of course, caused even _more_ jiggling. “Then I’m gonna have to watch you die and that’s gonna suck.” 

“Do you not want this too?” Leon asked, just a little bit snappier than he probably should have. “Don’t you want to be _done_ with this?” 

Raihan shut up immediately, swallowing hard. It was odd, Leon thought, how he was the one literally standing naked in the altar, and yet Raihan was the one who looked like he’d been caught misbehaving instead. 

“Of course I want this to be over,” Raihan said, hands slowly curling into fists at his sides. “I… it’s been _so long_ , of course I want this done!” Raihan swallowed hard after the outburst, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “But it’s selfish of me, to wager your life for the sake of my freedom.” 

“I’m the one wagering my life here, not you,” Leon said firmly, unfolding his arms enough to rest his hands on his hips, and it was a very purposeful thing, as well, because he knew at that angle, Raihan could see _all_ of him. “More to the point, I’m doing this for my own reasons! So… there’s nothing wrong with it, right? If we both work together on this, because we both get something out of it. We can call it cooperation, right?” 

Raihan let out a deep sigh. 

“Right.” 

Leon smiled the cocky smile that always made Sonia roll her eyes and eventually go along with whatever nonsense he’d come up with. 

“Good,” he said, and then took a deep breath. “Tell me what to do.” 


	2. proper introductions

“Tell me what to do.” 

Raihan took a moment to stare at the imprudent moron standing before him, lips pressed into a thin line. It had been long, now, since the last time he’d met a sacrifice willing to try to play the role they were told they were meant to play. Most of them came in scared and sad, and were always so grateful to take Raihan’s trade instead. He wondered what Rose was telling the poor things, but Rose knew better than to roam anywhere near Hammerlocke, and it had been centuries now, since he’d last seen the Great Sage. 

Even for those that had goaded Raihan into attempting the ritual before, however, Leon was special. Frightfully strong and auspiciously aligned for it, as well, the power of the sun burned intensely just under his skin, untapped and unknown to anyone with eyes less keen than Raihan’s. But with great strength came also great capacity for disaster, and though he seemed to have discipline, given how well he’d navigated Raihan’s dream trails, he was woefully untrained. Long before the fall of Hammerlocke, Raihan remembered apprentices who burned themselves away, like the wick of a candle, when they tried to wield power beyond their skill. 

Raihan sighed. 

They would attempt the linking, at least. If it failed, he reckoned he still had enough power to save the poor fool and let him go home, relatively unscathed. It was likely to fail, anyway, Raihan should prepare for that. Only two had succeeded since the sacrifice system had been established, and both had been early on, before Raihan realized it was easier to stop trying and go for the alternative first. The magic had seeped in deep into Hammerlocke, by now, multiplied by the passing seasons as it filled up the charred stones like a reservoir after a good storm. It was too much for anyone to handle. 

“You must introduce yourself to the Wild Magic running rampant in Hammerlocke,” Raihan said, folding his arms into the sleeves of his robe, hands holding onto his elbows. “It’s not sentient, exactly, but it’s good at pretending it is. If it accepts you, you will be connected to it, and become eligible to perform the ritual.” 

“And if it doesn’t?” Leon asked, head tilted slightly sideways and long, purple hair falling down his shoulders. 

It looked rather soft, and Raihan blamed the gnarled up magic pulsing in the air for the unruly thought. 

“Well,” Raihan said, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “then you and I, but mostly you, are going to have a phenomenally bad day.” 

“Can’t have that, then,” Leon insisted, hands on his hips, and smile as bright as the spark of sunlight pulsing behind his sternum. “I’ll do my best, Raihan.” 

“I’m sure you will,” Raihan replied, nowhere near as confident, mostly because he knew exactly how this had to go. “Very well,” he added with a small sigh. “Let’s begin, then.” 

“Right,” Leon said, reaching up to slap his face, as if to wake himself up, and then braced in place, as if preparing to throw himself into a fight. 

Raihan thought it was cute, despite himself. 

“I told you before, sex magic will be required, since it was that same kind of magic that created this mess in the first place,” Raihan explained, even though it wasn’t, strictly speaking, the truth, but it was close enough to not hurt and still be useful. “You’ll need to set that tone, in your introduction to the Wild Magic, or it will rebound on you later, even if you do survive this part.” Leon nodded along, as if he understood anything Raihan was talking about, which he clearly did not, or else he’d be running away screaming. “Magic itself is neutral, power has no bias. We mold it into shape, as we make use of it. The same principle applies here.” 

“That makes sense,” Leon replied, nodding to himself. Then he stopped. “So…” He tilted his head to the side. “Uh. How do I do that?” 

Raihan arched an eyebrow. 

“Touch yourself,” he said, voice even, like they were discussing something mundane, like the weather. 

Leon stared at him for a moment, chest raising and falling with each breath, and then very slowly, holding onto Raihan’s gaze, raised both hands and press both index fingers to his cheeks. It caught Raihan by surprise, which was apparently the point, as Leon broke down chuckling, clearly pleased with himself. 

“Sorry,” he said, with a little grin that made his eyes dance – his eyes were the color of molten gold, bright and cheerful, Raihan noted, distracted. “You looked so serious, I couldn’t help myself.” 

“Well,” Raihan replied, arching an eyebrow at him and refusing to let himself smile back, “I’m glad one of us is having fun.” 

“I’m not very old, or very wise,” Leon replied, expression softening, less teasing and more… resigned, in a way that made Raihan regret the quip. “But if I’ve learned one thing, in my life, is that when you can’t control something, you can at least control how you face it.” He smiled, eyes closed, and Raihan realized he was going to remember that expression, til the day he died. “So I’m putting my best face forward, and hoping for the best.” 

“You don’t have to do this,” Raihan repeated, frowning, feeling his skin tingle with the urge to bristle up scales he didn’t have. 

“No, I don’t _have_ to,” Leon said, shrugging. “You’ve made it quite clear! But I _can_ ,” he set his jaw as he said it, and Raihan was struck by the thought that he would have been magnificent, in a different age, living a different life. “So I feel I should try.” He laughed. “I’m selfish like that.” He shot Raihan a look of carefully mixed hopefulness and nerves, but even that didn’t really quell the smile. “This is already going significantly better than I ever thought it would.” 

He kept smiling, and he had so many different smiles, Raihan couldn’t help but be slightly taken by the minute differences between them, and the impact they had on their meaning. And then the words registered properly and his throat closed up, eyes narrowing. 

The true treachery, Raihan knew, had not been the slaughter at the feast, the sound of the King howling in pain, or the screech of power spiraling out of control as he fell, toxic miasma ghosting after the fire that ravaged all it touched. The real, singular evil committed that night was the way the seal was twisted into the monstrosity it had become. Raihan had spent so much time replaying the scene in his mind, moving the pieces around, worrying over the outcome like a hound worrying a well-earned bone. It didn’t make sense, the way the magic had derailed so catastrophically. Raihan had long made peace with the fact nothing could have saved the King, that the sole purpose of the attack was in fact to drive him to madness and unleash his power into the world, wild and untamed, right at the heart of Hammerlocke. But the Seal should have worked. The Seal should have granted him peace and allowed the nightmare to end. Instead the magic had slipped from his control, like sand clenched in a fist, and the more he tried to force it back into its proper course, the more recklessly it churned and veered off course. It twisted and coiled and got snagged along the shape of a different spell, a different bond, and then, right before Raihan’s eyes, it became something only taboo magic could hope to be strong enough to unravel. 

Raihan had not known how exactly the Seal had been twisted, but he was knowledgeable enough to know what it _meant_. And that was the true nature of his torment, as Seal Keeper: he knew exactly how broken and wrong everything was, and exactly what would take to fix it, but he could do _nothing_ about it. 

The truly terrifying thing, Raihan thought, studying Leon where he stood, was the fact Rose had somehow managed to stumble blindly onto someone who actually _had_ all that was required to help Raihan try and untangle the horrific nightmare that was Hammerlocke, and he was _willing_ to do it. 

The Great Sage was as great a magic user a human could get, rendered nearly immortal by the power he wielded, but he was, still, human. His eyes were dull and unable to truly grasp the truth of things, the same way Raihan’s did. Magic and power were all the same to him, because humans lacked the senses to even perceive the delicate differences and understand the higher mysteries that Raihan’s people had spent eons turning into precise science. 

Rose would have known Leon had potential and that a decade of _his_ life force would invigorate the Seal significantly, but he wouldn’t have seen all that Raihan could: the potential depth of his talents and the auspicious alignment of his innate power, and how well suited it all was to compliment Raihan’s own and provide the required balance for the rites required. 

And he was _willing_ , too. 

And he _meant_ it, too. 

“After this, there will be no going back,” Raihan said, mastering himself and evicting the small wiggle of hope trying to worm its way into his soul. “I will cast an introduction spell, as it were. It’ll keep you from getting overwhelmed by the wild magic in the castle, as it learns the shape of you. If you survive the first contact, you’ll be bound to the magic, until you’ve dispelled it, or you die.” 

“I’d like to not die,” Leon replied, grin back on his face and eyes crinkling at the corners, “if it’s all the same to you.” 

Gods above and below, he was the living embodiment of the _sun_. 

“I’d be rather pleased if you do survive this,” Raihan replied, a little dry, “if nothing else because it’ll mean I’m free as well.” 

“It’s okay to admit you like me,” Leon insisted, teasing, and Raihan realized he’d found his footing, and it no longer mattered he was naked and standing at the center of the room, about to commit himself to madness, he would ride through it with the same confidence. “I am very likable, you know?” 

“If you survive this,” Raihan insisted, “I suppose I’ll have a chance to find out whether that’s true or not.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Leon capitulated, and then rubbed his hands on his thighs, high up almost where they melted into his hips, inadvertedly framing the dip of his hipbones into the vee of his groin. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any pointers, though, about exactly what you meant by _touch yourself_ , do you?” 

“I believe the proper term is masturbation,” Raihan replied in taunting deadpan, caught in that teasing note in Leon’s voice, lips still twitching with the urge to smile, despite it all. “But I didn’t want to smother you with all those syllables.” 

“I know _words_ ,” Leon replied, immediately folding his arms under the swell of his chest, lips pressed into a petulant line. “I’ll have you know I’m _very_ well read, matter of fact.” He paused a moment, and then shrugged. “I’ve just… I don’t know how this works. Not really. All I know is what I shouldn’t do.” 

Raihan let out a sigh, and shook his head. 

“Sex magic is taboo because it is inherently wild and unpredictable,” he explained, and then, after a moment of hesitation, started walking up to join Leon in the center of the room. The main difference being that he knew how to not touch the water of the ringed pools, feet stepping on hardened air just above the surface. It was a little thing, but it still made Leon stare at him in fascination, and Raihan admitted to himself he didn’t dislike being subject to that kind of look. “ _Good_ sex blurs the edges, between you and your partner. Or partners, even. Sometimes, it takes part of you and part of them and mixes it all into something _new_. That’s a unique kind of magic all on its own, and not one that’s ever been successfully replicated.” 

Leon’s breathing hitched when Raihan reached out to hold one of his hands, skin breaking into goosebumps. They were close enough that Raihan could see his pupils dilating ever so slightly, as he guided him down to the ground, to sit on the circular platform that was wide enough to hold them both lying on it without much trouble. 

“We’re going to blur _your_ edges, against those of the magic in the castle, and that’ll let me guide it where it’s supposed to be.” Raihan guided Leon so that he was kneeling between Raihan’s legs, back turned to him, shivering every time skin brushed against skin. Raihan guided his hand, holding Leon’s, to rest on his belly, fingers spread out, “Theoretically, the ideal scenario for this kind of thing would be for you to _discover_ those edges about to get blurred, during the introduction stage of the ritual. But it’s hard to balance that with the idea that you have to be _willing_.” 

“I keep expecting it to hurt,” Leon whispered, and then leaned back against Raihan, seemingly grounding himself in place. “I feel… I feel like last night.” His eyes slid half mast as Raihan tried to pull his hand away and instead Leon switched the order, so it was Raihan’s palm pressed against his skin, and Leon’s fingers grasping at his, keeping it in place. “And I keep remembering what it was like, what happened as soon as I started… feeling anything.” 

“Your body is yours, now,” Raihan said, pressing the words against the crown of Leon’s head, “take your time.” 

For a long time, they merely sat there, breathing in tandem, but Raihan refused to comment or nudge Leon at all. They had a few days, at least, to get through the introduction, or for Leon to leave Hammerlocke, before the magic started seeping into him and doing him harm. There was no imminent rush, at least, that wouldn’t let the man take stock of himself and slowly work through it, or at least come to the conclusion he couldn’t go through with it after all. 

Deep in the back of his head, so far removed from his immediate attention that he almost didn’t acknowledge it, Raihan was assaulted by the thought that he despised Rose and that the first thing he was going to do, once he was free, was going to visit gross bodily harm upon the Great Sage at the first opportunity he had. 

It wasn’t the first time he contemplated such course of action, either. 

“I can do this,” Leon said, eyes open barely a sliver, after a small eternity of merely matching his breathing to Raihan’s. “I can.” 

“Are you scared?” Raihan asked, voice quiet and eyes intent as he watched Leon’s hand slide away from Raihan’s, reaching up to the dip between his collarbones and then slowly trailing downwards. 

“I know I probably should be," Leon said, also staring at his hand as it passed over Raihan’s and then changed courses at the last moment, pressing along his waist rather than going down, along the ridge of an old, pale scar that stood up in sharp contrast against his skin. “But I’m not.” He tilted his head up so he could look at Raihan and smiled, yet another different smile, almost shy this time. “I guess it means I trust you.” 

“I’ll do my best to prove worthy of it,” Raihan replied, finally losing the battle and allowing himself a small, encouraging smile, and then squashed the urge to lean in and press his lips against Leon’s. 

That was probably just the magic, which was stalking the outside of the chamber they were in, gathering curiously even before Raihan formally invited it in. Leon had sunlight woven through his heart, beating an echo of powerful, deep magic under his sternum, and he didn’t know it. But the very same things that made him an ideal candidate for the rite – the most ideal candidate Raihan had ever seen, in however many wretched years he’d spent languishing in Hammerlocke – were also the same things that put him in danger if he stayed too long without starting the rite. 

The wild magic was not sentient, of course, but it was good at pretending it was. It was at the very least vast and tumultuous and prone to smothering any small spark that was not part of it already, swallowing it whole into itself. Raihan had only seen the tide of magic smother out one of Rose’s sacrifices before, but once had been enough. Still, they were safe in the room, the wards in the water holding steady, and keeping the magic at bay at least until Raihan made the call. 

Slowly, yet steadily, Leon shifted in Raihan’s hold, fingers exploring bit by bit. His breathing deepened by degrees as he stumbled on places where the friction of skin on skin triggered a sensation. The inside of his elbows, the skin taunt around his navel, the left side of his neck and the back of his ankles. Then, after a slow, steady breath, he ran his hands across his chest, almost unsure of what to do with the supple flesh. His was an athletic built, muscle layered evenly on his frame, in a way that only hard work and manual labor could, so Raihan wouldn’t exactly call him _voluptuous._ Still, he had enough chest to fill up his hands, as he kneaded the skin slowly, seemingly trying to come to terms with the sensation. 

“Oh,” Leon gasped, somewhere between mystified and breathless, as he fiddled with his own nipples, which had grown stiff and darkened as blood rushed to the surface. “Oh, that’s nice.” He tilted his head back, looking up at Raihan with a little mischievous tilt to his lips, even as he continued playing with his chest. “Explains why everyone’s always so bloody fixated on them, I guess,” he added, and then closed his eyes and let his head fall back against Raihan’s shoulder, as he gave his left nipple an experimental pinch. “Still not worth the hassle of having to wear a shirt while hauling hay though.” 

Raihan considered asking what the hell did shirts have to do with hauling hay, but Leon stumbled on the precise pressure and angle to twist a nipple, and his breathing stuttered in surprise, thighs twitching. After two breaths, he did it again, and looked up at Raihan in surprise at the sudden, breathless moan that rolled out of his throat. Raihan pressed his face against Leon’s head, breathing in the scent of his hair – sweat slowly building on top of the soap from his bath, and deep beneath that something bright and flaring like a sunburst coated in _warmth_ , a scent with no name beyond Leon’s, which spiked in complexity alongside Leon’s arousal. 

“Should I stop?” Leon gasped, voice gone low and rough around the edges as he started squirming in place. “I feel… it’s…” 

“If you want,” Raihan said, licking his lips and steadily ignoring the pulse of his own lust stirring somewhere in the pit of his stomach, mostly out of staunch self-control. “It gets better if you keep going, though.” 

Leon gave him a look that spoke volumes of how dubious he found that statement, but after another few minutes of squirming he finally let go of one nipple and reached down to press his fingers right between his legs. He stayed there, unmoving for a moment, and then his hand shifted and a loud, desperate moan rushed past his lips, and then he was gone. 

“Your fingers are longer than mine,” Leon pointed out, staring up at Raihan with a sudden, feral glint of hunger in his eyes, one knee hooked on one of Raihan’s, so his legs were spread wide and he could maneuver his hand around comfortably as he buried finger and index of his right hand up to the knuckle inside himself. 

“They are,” Raihan replied, leaning on the amusement to try and smother the sudden, near overwhelming flare of desire that crept on him almost all at once. “Maybe later,” he added, against his own better judgment, purely for the satisfaction of watching Leon’s hips buck into his own hands, clearly enthused at the prospect. 

Raihan resisted the urge to frown, watching as Leon fumbled his way into his very first orgasm. He didn’t remember it affecting him quite so much, the last time he’d done this. Any of them. He wasn’t a monster – he tried not to be, though he’d been left alone so long, stuck in the timeless ruin of Hammerlocke, ennui broken only by the regular appearance of scared, cowed humans expecting him to do anything from raping them for sport to devouring them alive, that perhaps he’d turned into one without noticing – he wanted to make this painful, awkward, awful mess as painless and smooth and _not terrible_ as possible, for those innocent fools Rose roped into this. He knew, in theory, what needed to be done and what part he had to take on it, and on some level he understood there was a physicality to it that was obviously going to affect him. 

But he didn’t expect the yearning to hit him quite as hard as it did, watching Leon fall quiet, limbs trembling slightly as he took big, desperate breaths and stared unseeing at the distance, trying to process his own pleasure. He wanted to touch and taste and have Leon’s lips wrap around his name as he came apart, and it was such a strange, foreign urge that he had to spare a moment and feel out the wards, to make sure it wasn’t the magic getting to him. But no, the massive vortex was right at the edge of the room, steadily growing in intensity, but still unable to break through. 

So that was all Raihan, then. 

Huh. 

“Should I stop?” Leon asked, a dark flush settled on his cheeks, even as his hands were already moving again, and Raihan could make out the soft, squelching sound of fingers dipping in and out of his body. 

“Not if you don’t want to,” Raihan replied, one eyebrow arched, clinging studiously to his serene, detached persona, lest his body caught up with his mind and gave away how affected he suddenly was. “But once the rite starts, you are going to get a lot of those.” 

Leon shuddered in reply, toes curling at the thought. 

“Why is the rite a bad thing again?” He asked, half-jokingly, like he wasn’t mostly sprawled gracelessly in Raihan’s arms, idly fingering himself with one hand and thumbing a nipple with the other. 

“Well, there’s the fact you’ll die or at least dearly wish you would,” Raihan replied, eyebrows arched, “if the magic rejects you.” 

“Ah,” Leon said, sighing loudly, “right. That wouldn’t be great, no.” He pulled his hands away from himself and stretched, not unlike a cat, but did not actually pull himself away from Raihan’s hold. “I’m ready, then.” 

“It doesn’t have to be now,” Raihan reminded him, though he was starting to grasp the fact one Leon settled on a course of action, he was going to stubbornly cling to it and refuse to alter it. 

“Doesn’t have to,” Leon agreed, looking at Raihan with that teasing, upbeat smile, almost hopeful, “but we might as well.” 

Raihan, who actually knew what was at stake – could feel it rubbing itself against the wards like a cat scenting its favorite corner by the hearth – didn’t quite manage to smile back so brightly. 

* * *

The heart room had been the first one built, in all of Hammerlocke. 

Although to say it had been built would have been a gross mischaracterization: the site of the new capital city had been scouted for miles and carefully determined based on ley lines and the predicted star movements three millennia in advance. And then, upon choosing the plateau right at the heart of the continent, the greatest, most powerful sorcerers of the budding new court came together to conjure the heart room into being. Every King then on was crowned in it, and upon death, every King’s remains were burned to ashes and fed to the pools of water that served as anchors for the wards. It was both the fountainhead of the power Raihan had tapped into in desperation, when the Seal had been first crated, and also the antithesis of everything that power had become: the magic in the ponds was not wild, for all it was ancient. It was the foundation of Hammerlocke, and into it were woven all the wishes and desires of all those who had once wielded its power for themselves and who had later added their own power into it. The magic in the heart room existed to _preserve_ Hammerlocke, whereas the magic outside had decimated most of it. It was their stalemate that Raihan had woven into a Seal, and it was that stalemate that the rite Leon was offering himself up for would attempt to resolve. 

“Brace yourself,” Raihan said, keeping his hand pressed on Leon’s belly, holding him in place, and raising the other, palm stretched and facing the door they had entered from. “It’s coming.” 

“I’m ready,” Leon replied, still mostly sprawled on Raihan’s lap, and not in any hurry to move it seemed. 

_I hope that’s true_ , Raihan did not say, as he was busy channeling his will into old stone and ancient water. It had served him, once, and it remembered it, but it also remembered how that had turned out. Magic wasn’t sentient, but it was good at pretending it was. Raihan heard the bangles around his wrist jingle loudly as they began to move and spin in place, seemingly on their own, and bared his teeth on reflex as the old runes carved deep into his flesh bloomed alive, skin tearing open and blood not so much gushing as evaporating instantly into the air, resulting in bright, glowing lines cutting along the length of his arm. He clenched his fingers, as if grasping at an invisible force, when the magic yielded and begrudgingly fell into place. 

That was the easy part, Raihan thought, as the outer most circle of water froze up abruptly and then melted with a loud, hissing _pop_ , only when it slushed back into the pool, it left a gap, where the water rose away, carving a path, of sorts. Raihan repeated the process slowly, methodically peeling away the wards, one at the time, balancing the impulse they had to close up tight, and well aware applying too much pressure could cause them to _shatter_. 

And _then_ they’d be fucked, both of them, only not so amenably as they were gearing up for. 

When the last ward was open, the wild magic made its move. 

It slithered into the room, shapeless but for the sinuous twists and coils, that were not really anything but the _impression_ of pure, predatory movement. To Raihan’s eyes, the slithering mass was the color of Hammerlocke’s ruin: the deep, dark purple of the toxic miasma pooling all over the ruins, and the vicious red glow beneath it, from the first spell that had precipitated the whole thing. 

“Raihan,” Leon said, staring at it, though what he was seeing was not something Raihan could even begin to guess. 

“Yes,” Raihan said, “it’s coming for you. To meet you.” He let out a shaky laugh, as more runes tore themselves open along his arm, and his fingers dug into the flesh of Leon’s belly, trying to keep the wards in place. “Do try to make a good impression.” 

Leon opened his mouth, given his tendency to retort, possibly to offer a pithy witticism on the matter, but then the wild magic was _there_ , right there with them, at the center of the altar, and Raihan could tell the precise moment that it made contact with Leon, because Leon let out a stuttering scream and came so hard and so abruptly that Raihan could feel his inner muscles straining beneath his palm. Then the wild magic coiled around Leon and the scream echoed again, because he didn’t get to come down from the first orgasm before he was forcefully catapulted into the next. And the one after. 

Leon’s head fell back, and he burst both into laughter and tears at once, somewhere around the sixth orgasm in a row. He clutched at Raihan desperately, thighs flinching indecisively between closed and spread wide, completely and thoroughly overwhelmed. But even as his senses were assaulted and every inch of his body writhed in place, Raihan could see that slice of sunlight remain steady, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. 

So there was that. 

It wasn’t very long, objectively speaking. Perhaps half an hour, at most. The wild magic coiled and twisted and pressed and then it receded, like the ocean tide, away, past the wards, and then seemingly vanished, settling in deep into the foundations themselves, dormant again. Raihan dropped his arm as soon as it was gone, and the wards slapped back into place, slamming close with the force of an earthquake. He had runes torn open all the way to his elbow, and he couldn’t really feel his fingers. He looked down at Leon, pulling him tighter into his arms. 

“Are you alright?” Raihan asked, voice low. 

“No,” Leon rasped out, pressing his face against Raihan’s chest, drool still wet down the side of his mouth and tear tracks down his cheeks. “Bastard _stopped_ right before the last one.” 

Raihan barked a laugh of sheer surprise, and then, before he could think better of it, reached down to the wet, soppy mess between Leon’s legs. Leon groaned when Raihan merely dipped his fingers to collect some of the slick dripping steadily down onto the stones beneath them, and then fiddled back up to find the cluster of nerves right atop Leon’s entrance. He held it between index and middle finger and rubbed it twice before Leon let out another desperate, broken sob and came so hard he passed out. 

Raihan did not give into the urge to lick his fingers clean and find out what Leon’s pleasure actually tasted like, but only just barely. 

Instead he clutched the limp body close and buried desperate laughter into his hair. 

The die was cast, after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/notavodkashot), if you'd like.


End file.
